


Your Time is Up - REWRITE (see description)

by skyesu_arts



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyesu_arts/pseuds/skyesu_arts
Summary: [inspired by "Your Time is Up" by formerly Luciiid on Deviantart]"Are you currently on any prescription meds? Maybe something you have to eat, or drink at night? Anything a doctor should know about?""No.""Do you believe you are perfectly mentally healthy?""Yes.""Do you have any idea why your parents disagree?"[trigger warning: psychopathic thoughts & actions, graphic violence, events taking place in a mental asylum]





	1. Chapter 1

A small six-year-old girl was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, with about a hundred scraps of ideas floating around in her head. Her mousy brown hair was tied up in two little scrappy pigtails. Her face scrunched in thought, and her fingers twitched in anticipation. Pieces of paper lay scattered across the wooden floor, coated in red and orange crayon. Across the hall, through the several tables and dressers barricading her locked door she could hear the quiet but furious argument between her mother and father. Several snippets of words and sentences could be heard but Natalie Ouellette could only guess what they meant. She listed them in her brain as so:

Such, unordinary, can't, disgrace, fire, psycho, time, hospital.

Despite growing worried by the minute, Natalie tried shrugging it off as your average Tuesday bicker. This kind of thing happened all the time, and she had been reminded again and again these past few weeks that she was to be held responsible for it. She would've let the words sink through if she had been willing to listen to any privacy-invading student at school.

"No, Dave. I'll tell you again, there is _different_ , and then there's _bad_. They're not interchangeable but somehow, with her, you act like they are!"

"I'm not saying it's always that way! There's such thing as being worried about something—someone, without just…wanting it completely out of you life."

"You are _so_ overreacting."

Natalie's head perked up and she shuffled closer to the door, abandoning her previous works-in-progress. _Mom's taking my side for once?_

"I'm not overreacting, in fact, I think you're under-reacting. She clearly needs some kind of help, I just don't know where to start."

"David…"

"No, I know what you're going to say, and I agree. To a point. But I think we could at least try decreasing how much she…you know."

"You mean how much she sees the truth in things? How she never lets bullies, and insults, and negativity get her down? Because I think that's something we should be nourishing."

"You really think that's all that's happening here?"

Her father said it so quietly she had to shift her night table away from the door to even catch that question. Somehow, it almost disappointed Natalie that her parents were still on about this. She wanted to interfere, but something stopped her. She knew from experience that if she was there as well, they wouldn't be the least bit honest about what they were really thinking. This way she could catch most of the details from a distance. The only disadvantage this offered was that she couldn't steer them to her point of view.

_Ha. Perspective. That one thing Dad always says I don't have, for some reason._

As though hit by a switch after she'd thought that, her parents' arguing came to an abrupt stop. After a moment of brief but awkward silence, her father added, "Good god, Mary. Don't be so sensitive to that. Just like you said; it's not like any of this could ever hurt her feelings."

"That's not what I said," her mother whispered, her voice gravelly and quaking. There was another pause, then Dad's voice grew louder.

"Natalie, could you come here for a second? It's not good to keep yourself cooped up in there all the time."

Hearing her father making such a forward request caused Natalie's eyebrows to shoot through the ceiling. "Okay," she replied as quietly as possible. _Showtime_.

"What is it, daddy?" She greeted, thankful for the physical labor of pushing desks out of the way making it so she didn't exactly had to act weak and tired this time. Just the right amount of pity and she'd be on her way in a minute.

Her father forced on a friendly smile and gestured for her to sit down on the bed next to her mother. Natalie obliged, flashing an attempted grin of her own at Mom. Dad cleared his throat, as if preparing himself for a business meeting, and he folded his hands for good measure.

"Nat. I've noticed you've been drawing on the walls. Again. Something we've _repeatedly_ told you not to do. You're old enough to control yourself, sweetheart. You really are."

"I need to express myself," she answered simply with a shrug. The taken-aback look in her father's eyes almost made her laugh, so she smiled to let a little bit of it out. Dad regained his authoritative air, and he continued.

"Which I was going to bring up. You have paper in your room, Natalie. And _please_ don't tell me Lucas stole it from you. I heard you scribbling in your room just five minutes ago…" a look of exasperation dawned on his face as he realized what else she could have been drawing on.

"I didn't do it this time."

"Good. Very good, thank you."

"But with the economy you've been complaining about a lot lately, wouldn't you say you have bigger things to worry about?"

Dad froze in his tracks, then almost furiously turned to Mom and curled his hand into a fist.

"Do you see what I mean now?" He growled, looking like he was just barely holding himself together.

"Honey, please. Remember your exercises."

Mr. Ouellette, looking ready to argue but too tired to say anything, took two long, deep breaths. His face looked just a tiny bit closer to his regular skin tone, and Natalie realized that he'd been pinker than usual the whole conversation.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she eventually muttered. Of course, she didn't exactly mean it, but whether it was convincing would be up to him to decide.

When neither of her parents said a word she trotted back to her room to scribble some more. The sound of the paper forcefully creasing according to the dents in her floor calmed her down, and she always did love the way fire looked.


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't take this! It's only gotten worse by now. I swear, this is the last fucking straw before I lose faith in this entire country!"

Again cooped up in her bedroom, Natalie, now eleven years old, could very clearly hear David Ouellette shouting at the downstairs television.  _ Most likely still about economics. I can't even remember what his job is. _

Natalie lounged on her bed, chewing a particularly uncooperative energy bar and doodling something in her third sketchbook up to date. She'd moved on from flames to corpses, of which she discovered could have great variety. She found herself unable to shy away from the grotesque, with poetic and graphic ideas crowding her head each day, dying to be let out onto paper. This messily sketched piece consisted of a faceless man's limbs being violently hacked off, and Natalie couldn't have loved its creation more.

Just when she thought she would have dozed off, with the shouts from downstairs becoming almost a drone at this point, someone hastily rapped on her door with their knuckles. Natalie groaned, about as annoyed as her exhausted state was allowed to be and responded, "What."

"Rude. Can I come in? Dad's doing the thing again."

"…fine. My heart feels your pain," she replied mockingly. Typical of Lucas to barge in when she was just relaxing.  _ Couldn't he just go in his own room? _

Lucas quickly navigated the confusing doorknob which was on the verge of falling off and shut the door behind him, heaving a relieved sigh. "Thanks. Have I told you I hate it when—"

"When Dad starts yelling at the TV. I know. Can't you just go in your own room? I'm kinda busy," Natalie snapped, gesturing with a flourish to her paper pad and snack bar. Lucas fixed her with a glare.

"My room is way closer to him than yours. You know this."

"Yeah, I do. I just don't really see the problem? For me, at least." She stuck her tongue out at his scandalized face and resumed her work. Lucas stood his ground.

"Well, I'm still staying in here. I could be quiet if you want, but I'm really not in the mood to get kicked out of yet  _ another _ room in this house."

Natalie eyes him curiously at that statement. "Ah. So you're not just scared of him, you're not even allowed on the same floor as him." She looked up at the ceiling in thought. "I could see why, I suppose."

"Can you just take my side for once? Scratch that, do you even  _ take _ sides anymore? Or do you just like to watch us fighting now?"

Natalie scoffed. "Of course I take sides. I just don't like taking the stupid ones. World's full of neat little coincidences, wouldn't ya say?"

Lucas faltered, then seemed to think for a good minute.

"This is why they want you to get help. You know that, right?" He muttered, seeming to almost regret saying it. Natalie shot him a sharp look.

"No. I don't. There's nothing wrong with me. And since you brought  _ that _ up, you can leave now." She nodded pointedly at the door and raised her eyebrows. Lucas seemed only to grow more annoyed.

"Natalie…you're a dick."

"Say that if it makes you feel better about yourself." Natalie stuck out her lower lip innocently. "Like I said. I'm busy. Go jack off somewhere else, please."

Lucas narrowed his eyes and slowly opened the door, muttering to himself, "She shouldn't even know what that means…" before exiting in a huff.

Natalie sighed and rolled her eyes before continuing the drawing again.  _ It would be so much easier if he was just dead _ . She let herself enjoy that thought, adding a few conspicuous details that made the tortured figure look uncannily like her older brother.

The next day at school, she was pulled aside during lunch for a "chat" with a young lady she'd never seen in her life. Natalie was told this lady's name was Ms. Sarah Homenuik, and that over the next few weeks they would be having lunch together in what was essentially a decorated janitor closet. Natalie didn't fight the notion, per say. Eating alone was something she was especially used to, and in a place where she wouldn't have to look at her classmates' disgusting, pubescent faces?  _ Score _ .

But this lady seemed to be three less-than-great things in particular; condescending, sickly sweet, and interested in Natalie's home life. With a walk across the fifth-grade hall and into a secluded, horrifyingly tiny room, the girl's personal hell would be unleashed with an added bonus of "talking about your feelings" dysphoria.

_ I couldn't be more thrilled. _

"So, Natalie!" Ms. Homenuik flashed a Hollywood, toothy grin at her and picked excitedly at her artificial cafeteria salad. She was clearly expecting Natalie to say something in return. Natalie gave a little wave, waiting for the woman to get to the meat of this discussion.

Ms. Homenuik seemed to falter but played it off. "Now, it's okay to be shy. I'm this woman you've never met before, and my whole purpose here is to get you to talk about how you feel—"

_ Bingo _ .

"—but I'm more than happy to give you time to adjust." She shifted in her seat, like she hadn't dealt with a blank stare like Natalie's before. She cleared her throat and opened a thick, beige, professional-looking folder before scanning the contents of the first page. Once she'd finished reading, one of her eyebrows shot up and she cleared her throat again.

"I see…" she muttered. She clearly had no idea what she had gotten herself into until now; a fact Natalie found very amusing. She decided to play dumb and wait patiently for Ms. Homenuik to regain her previous charisma.

"…well, I guess there's not that much of a point in comforting you here. You're obviously not the typical definition of  _ shy _ …"

"Huh?" Natalie interjected quietly, her eyes widened and confused. Sarah immediately looked guilty of what she'd said.

"Oh! Did I say that out loud? I'm sorry, I hope that didn't…" She faltered again at the inquiring look on Natalie's face.

"Hurt my feelings? It's okay, lady. I'll be  _ just _ fine here for the next month." She almost burst out laughing at the social worker's look of perplexity. Sarah slowly nodded. "Alright. Good. That's good to hear. Maybe…" she sighed and tapped the folder lightly on the table, eyeing a box on the side.

"…instead of talking, today we could play a game? To get to know each other a little bit?" She gave Natalie a friendly smile, to which she reluctantly responded with her own.

"Do ya have some paper? Or chess?"  _ Might as well make this a little less bland _ . Ms. Homenuik's eyes widened, and she seemed to be rejuvenated by Natalie's suggestions. "Oh, chess is a good idea! I do have it, actually." She reached across the tiny room to a shelf for a chessboard. "You know how to play?"

"Depends on what you mean," Natalie muttered just loud enough so that she could be heard, but not completely understood. The young woman turned back to her, unsure of what she'd just said. Natalie quickly switched gears, plastering on a quirky, fifth-grade-girl smile and said, "Of course!"

Sarah relaxed. She obviously was under the impression that she had found some kind of passion, or safe space, or familiarity for Natalie.  _ I mean, she's not exactly stupid for thinking that. Am I that good of an actor? _

The pieces in her brain clicked into position after the first round was won. Toppling Sarah's king seemed to unlock something.

_ Maybe a wooden chess piece isn't the only thing I can take down for fun. _

_ — _

"Mom, did you tell the school I needed a social worker?"

Mrs. Ouellette quickly turned her head at those words to face her daughter. "Excuse me?" Her eyebrows were furrowed, but not in anger. More annoyed confusion. Natalie continued.

"Because I don't need one."

"Who said you needed one?"

"One of you guys. I got pulled out of lunch to talk to a random lady I didn't know. We played chess."

Mom's expression softened. "Dad must've called the school or something. I suppose it doesn't matter…" she turned back to the sink full of dirty dishes, her thinking face on. "Did you have fun with…uh, you didn't say her name, did y—"

"Ms. Homenuik. Yeah, I guess. I get this weird feeling about her, though. Dunno what it is." Natalie gave her best look of uncertainty to whatever was beside her, and her mother seemed to freeze. Then she resumed her vigorous dish-washing.

"I'm sure you're just nervous about meeting someone new. Hey, she could be a new friend of yours! Ever think of that?"

"…maybe."

"Of course. Have any homework?"

"No," Natalie lied.

"Good. I'll call again to make sure everything is… _ organized _ and you should be good to see her tomorrow."

_ So she's actually taking me serious now? _

The girl smiled at the thought of what life would be like after the end result, and skipped up to her room to draw.

Thoughts were bouncing around her head like crazy now. So many so that for the first time in her life, she had no idea what to draw.  _ What? Why? Have I run out of ideas? _

She clenched her teeth and snapped a crayon in half. "No. I just have too many. I'll…" she glanced around the room and saw a stray broken pencil, an anatomy book, some purple paint, and one of her own earlier drawings of a man who'd been beaten up and left to die.

Natalie grinned.  _ So we're going long-term art project, now? _

"Yes. I think we are."


	3. Chapter 3

School after that proceeded as usual. None of the other students seemed to mind Natalie's sudden disappearance during lunchtime. Though it wasn't that noticeable, there was definitely a distinct sense of peace and tranquility throughout the cafeteria when it was time for the 5th graders to have lunch. At least, that was what Natalie was told when she slyly cornered Mia during recess a week later. She noted the girl's courage when it came to these things. Mia always seemed willing to feed Natalie information when needed, as long as it didn't have any dirt on herself. She was one of the very few people that even talked to Natalie, which was still a little shocking considering she was almost hyper-aware of her social status and planned to keep it as high as possible.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Nats. That's what the little loser Nathan told me, word for word." Mia toyed with one of her ginger curls and gave her an apologetic look. She couldn't have sounded faker but Natalie was going to take what she could get. One of Mia's "friends" walked up to the two girls lounging on top of the monkey bars, her face reading timid annoyance.

"Hey, are you two done yet? We agreed, five minutes at most with…her." The girl faltered at Natalie's warning stare, and seemed to settle on keeping her eyes solely on Mia. "You can tell her the rest tomorrow. I heard Sam's asking out Katie G. today," she added with a malicious gleam in her eye. Mia raised an eyebrow.

"Weird Sam or Hot Sam?"

"Weird Sam. He's got a  _ flower _ ."

Mia's face lit up at the prospect of fresh, humiliating gossip. She pat Natalie on the shoulder, making to jump off the monkey bars. "See ya later, psycho girl. You  _ know _ I have to see this."

Natalie smiled thoughtfully at the nickname, almost beginning to understand playful banter. _ I can insult someone and they might think it's a joke. What a wonderful world. _

But on a more sentimental scale, she also felt as if she finally understood  _ friendship _ . Even though she didn't get much out of it, Mia always agreed to give Natalie the news, the "rumor has it's," the local word. Perhaps it was because she knew that eventually, Natalie would ruin somebody's life with the information she had, and she could sit back and watch without consequence.  _ That does sound fun. _

Natalie held her smile, somehow. She really had no reason to; nobody was watching, and even if they were, nobody in the entire grade could be convinced that she was normal. But she sat and grinned anyway, swinging her legs like a regular 11-year-old girl on the monkey bars.

_ Maybe she  _ is  _ a friend. A very loose one, at that. _

About ten tripping "accidents," twelve bruises on her own arm, a black eye, and one convincingly quivering lip later, Natalie could hear muffled shouts from the room adjacent to hers in the police station. Sarah Homenuik was nearly screeching in her own defense, and the police were struggling to calm her down. There were many gaps in speech, like someone had hit the adults' collective off-switch.

_ "I didn't do anything, I swear!" _

"Ma'am, we've found substantial evidence of abuse on the girl's body. We were also told you wore black leather gloves to beat Miss Ouellette, and while searching your office we found exactly those. With  _ both _ parties' trace on them. I apologize, Ms. Homenuik, but no child in their right mind would  _ lie _ about such a thing."

_ "She's a psychopath, that's what she is! I read her file, her parents have been telling me horror stories since the beginning—" _

"Regardless of any present mental issues, the proof is there. Her parents believe her, her teachers believe her, and so do we. You're the only one who has anything to say in your defense."

_ "This isn't right! I demand—" _

"No. What you did  _ wasn't _ right."

Natalie's eyes widened, and she had to try incredibly hard to keep herself from laughing. Her parents had bought it. The police had bought it. The teachers weren't much of a surprise; they had probably always took her for the shy, sensitive kid, and given her the benefit of the doubt. She finally backed away from the door, decidedly having heard enough.  _ Good luck, Ms. Sarah Homenuik. It's not your fault you're boring. _

As the 12-year-old climbed inside the family car to head home, she heard an odd sound coming from the front seat. Her mother was shaking. Her head was hunched over her lap, and there were several tissues piled up on the dashboard.

_ She's crying. _

"Hi, Mom."

Mary stopped short, and whirled her head around to face her daughter. "Oh. N-Natalie, I didn't see you there." Her eyes were red and her face almost purple. Suddenly, she looked as if she just couldn't take anymore and burst into tears again, turning back around in embarrassment.  _ Or shame, maybe. _

"I'm s-so sorry, Natalie. I should've  _ known! _ That woman…she was doing such terrible things to you, and I didn't do anything to stop it! I'm such an  _ idiot _ . I…" she sniffed once, almost searching for what else to say. But it seemed as if she was all out. "G-god, I'm a mess…you shouldn't see me like this, sweetie…"

"Mom, you didn't sign me up for the social worker. It's okay," Natalie said awkwardly, racking her brain for a way to get out of this emotional outburst.

"O-of course. You're right, b-but…you didn't have a good feeling about her, you said so yourself. And I should have listened." She blew heavily into another tissue and set it aside.  _ Ew, what are you even going to do with those? _

"No matter. That's not important anymore. What's important is that I learned something today. You know what it was?"

Natalie arched her eyebrow. "What?"

"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. I put too much trust in the school, and look what happened. Well, no more." She turned to Natalie once more and put a hand on her shoulder. "Your father and I are signing you up for therapy. It's like what the school provided, but we have more of a say, and it's  _ far _ more professional. That means no leaks, no unsolicited…acts, et cetera."

Natalie nodded.  _ That sounds at least a little better. More of a challenge. _

"Will they treat me like a child?"

Her mother looked a little surprised. "Well…I sure  _ hope _ they do, you are one. B-but that doesn't mean you won't have a voice in things, if that's what you mean," she added hastily at Natalie's look of disappointment. "We'll make sure you feel  _ heard _ , Nat. That's what matters to us."


	4. Chapter 4

The following Thursday, Natalie's father escorted her to a large, official-looking building with an optimistic look on his face. It was odd, because he was usually either wearing a scowl, eating, or sleeping. Despite wanting to ask him about his sudden change of heart, she restrained herself for the time being.

"Mrs…Deborah…Barrett. Yep, 2nd floor," David read off a small letter board next to the lobby. He gestured at the stairway, smiling down at Natalie, a rare act which gave the girl a strange feeling about this place.  _ What could they do here that even makes Dad all giddy like this? _

As they sat silently in the waiting room, Natalie's father sighed and turned to her with a surprisingly calm demeanor.

"You know, this is the same building where I used to go for anger management. It was a long time ago, but…I still get this nice feeling whenever I'm here." He folded his legs in waiting for Mrs. Barrett. "They know what they're doing, let me tell you that."

_ So that's what did it. _

"I don't have anger problems."

"We know you don't, honey. You're not getting that kind of therapy. This is just…a generally positive, safe setting where you can explain the things you're feeling, and Deborah's going to talk with Mommy and I on how to help you."

"Do I have to talk at all?"

"…well, I'd like to think you'll at least say  _ something _ to Deborah. But you don't have to talk directly to her right away."

_ Good _ .

Just then, the office door opened to reveal a business-casual dressed woman, armed with a clipboard, ballpoint pen, a toothy smile, and some neatly curled blonde locks.

"David and Natalie Ouellette?"

"Yes, that's us."

"Great. Why don't you come on in?"

The lady extended an arm towards a wide leather couch and coffee table inside her office, and the two wasted no time in getting comfortable. Natalie sat a fair distance from her father, grateful for the lack of small, awkwardly-spaced waiting room chairs. Deborah seemed to notice this, writing a small note on her clipboard and taking a seat across from them.

"So! Mary filled me in on most of the situation," she started, nodding at Dave with a reassuring look, "and I've got most of my Thursdays cleared for the next two months, so there doesn't seem to be many problems there. I  _ do _ have a few questions for Natalie that I'd like to get the answers to privately, so Mr. Ouellette, if you wouldn't mind stepping out of the room."

Natalie's father nodded curtly and stood up, brushing himself off. He turned to Natalie and muttered, "It'll be fine," before walking out as comfortably as a human brick could. Deborah focused her attention on the way Natalie was fiddling with her sweater aglets, almost as if she was plotting something. There was a distinct sense of curiosity in the girl's intense gaze, so much so that Deborah had to clear her throat in order to get her attention.

"Hi. I'm Ms. Barrett, but you can call me Deborah. I'll be asking you a couple things just to get started, and once I'm done we'll call your father in to work out a plan—"

"Why is it  _ Ms _ . if you're wearing a wedding ring?" Natalie asked, tilting her head and staring at Deborah's right hand. The therapist looked confused.

"It's…neutral for both married and unmarried. Though there are some parts of my life I'd like to keep private, thank you. Are you ready to start?"

Natalie nodded. She just had to get that out of her system.

"Alright. First off, why would  _ you _ say you're here right now? Aside from the fact that your parents signed you up?" Deborah had her clipboard at the ready, arching an eyebrow with her pen already clicked. Natalie thought for a couple seconds.

"They think I'm a psychopath, and I was beaten by my social worker."

Ms. Barrett had been caught off guard once again. She clearly hadn't expected a twelve-year-old with alleged PTSD to be so open about her issues, especially not on the first day of therapy. "…alright. Admittedly, I did know about that. Your parents disclosed as much general information to me as they could, without intruding on your privacy. So I'm glad you told me that."

"And since you're contractually obligated to never release any personal information about  _ any _ of your clients, I believe I can safely say that I want my brother dead. With all my heart," Natalie announced with a distinct air of pride. It felt almost like an accomplishment to her, hating someone so much for years on end. Deborah blinked.

"You're very intelligent, aren't you? If I may ask…have you considered skipping a grade or two?"

"Laying it on thick, I see. I understand. I make people uncomfortable a lot. But I'm a stationary person, see. I'd prefer to stay where I am."

That couldn't have been more true—or more false. Sure, Natalie didn't like change all that much. It swayed her like nothing else, threw her off balance, and even worse, ruined all her plans. But changes that were within her control were her favorite things in the world. That was why she ruined Ms. Homenuik's life, why she drew on the walls when she was little, why she liked her room all to herself.

In her musings, Deborah was attempting to decipher Natalie's expression. It was very clear the girl was in deep thought. Deborah cleared her throat again.

"I guess you beat me. Congratulations. But may I talk for a minute? No interruptions?"

Natalie thought it through, having snapped out of her little daze. "Yes."

"Thank you. Now, we haven't even gotten to the second question yet, so I'll need you to help me try and make this go as quick as possible. Sound good?"

"Okay."

"Good. Let's see…do you have any past experience with therapy, psychiatric or psychological sessions, etcetera?"

"No. I had an abusive social worker."

"…okay. Are you currently on any prescription meds? Maybe something you have to eat or drink at night? Anything a doctor should know about?"

"No."

"Do you believe you are perfectly mentally healthy?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea why your parents disagree?"

"…"


	5. Chapter 5

"Natalie! Lucas! Mail!"

Mom's call upstairs unfortunately reached 15-year-old Natalie, even through all the blankets, desks, doors, and earbuds that were meant to block out any and all sound from her room. Natalie groaned at the sound of Lucas running across the living room and to the front door, knowing that whatever news would befall the family, he would hear it first. She got up from bed, paused her music and sulked downstairs with no intention of sifting through her parents' junk mail for them. However, Lucas's look of dismay at one particular letter caught her interest.

"Does that envelope have a mirror on it or something, brother?"

"Oh, god. Lord, sweet baby Jesus, please give me this one thing…!" His hands were almost shaking as he tore open the envelope and pried its contents out, his eyes shut in anticipation. He took a small peak at the first paper's opener, and yelled triumphantly.

_ "I got in! Whoo! _ Dad, get a load of this…"

David Ouellette lowered his newspaper and raised an eyebrow, his face not scrunched in frustration for once. "Which one, Luke? Didn't you apply to, like, ten?"

"MIT. I got into  _ MIT _ , you guys! Natalie, didn't you always say I wouldn't even get into the lowest community college in New Jersey? Well, eat  _ shit _ , sista'!"

"I'll put it on my to-do list. Anything for me?"

Mom droned from the kitchen, "Why don't you look yourself?" She then, in a much more enthusiastic tone, chirped, "Congratulations, Lucas! David, aren't you proud of him?"

Mr. Ouellette gave a happy grunt of approval, which was his way of jumping for joy.  _ Congrats, brother. I hope you realize how much smarter than you everybody else there is.  _ Natalie sighed and knelt down, searching for anything with at least a capital N. She spied an envelope that read in official-looking serif, "Walkerville-Collegiate Institute for the Creative Fine Arts", and her heart started to pound. She suddenly, miraculously understood Lucas's anxiety over the MIT acceptance letter.

Because she had no way of knowing from the outside whether this  _ was _ an acceptance letter.

Deciding to get this over with, she caught the edge of the envelope seal with her fingernail and ripped it open.

_ August 12, 2006 _

_ Natalia A. Ouellette _

_ 32 S Akner St _

_ Hillsborough, CA _

_ Dear Natalia, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been offered admission to Walkerville-Collegiate Institute for the Creative Fine Arts. The working staff and administration welcome you when you walk through our doors this coming fall. If you are a recipient of any financial aid or scholarships… _

Natalie, for the first time in her life, was speechless. She couldn't believe her eyes; she had been accepted to the most prestigious fine arts' school within a 10-mile radius.  _ Screw CalArts, this is good enough for me. _

Dad must have noticed the smile gradually spreading across Natalie's face, because he raised his chin and gestured inquiringly at the letter in her hand. "I haven't seen you smile like that in years, what're you reading?"

For once, Natalie didn't hide it. She was happy, genuinely happy she'd gotten into the school of her choice.  _ No more family issues, no more dealing with anyone in this stupid town, and all the more fresh meat. _ She held up the letter for her father to see, almost bouncing on her toes.

"I got accepted to Walkerville, Dad!"

Dave's eyebrows shot through the roof, and he grinned at her with full paternal pride. "Hey, would you look at that! Mary, tell me you heard what Natalie said?"

"Of course I did! Congratulations to you, too, honey! I bet you'll make it big in illustration, or…whatever classes you signed up for."

Natalie nodded wordlessly and stared back at the letter, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.  _ A real boarding school, with real people who'll understand me even less than anyone here. Paradise. _

"Although," her father interrupted her musings with his trademarked  _ don't forget that I ultimately know what's best for you _ tone, "I  _ still _ think you'd do somewhat better in the old family field. You know, business. Isn't that what—"

"Yes. It's what…'my type' is naturally skilled in. Too late, pops. I'm doing art," Natalie chirped, sinking into a nearby chair to scan the rest of her letter. Dad held up his hands.

"Alright. Just saying."

"David, don't be like that. She's happy she got in, that's what matters right now."

"Yes, of course." Her father resumed his newspaper, and Lucas abruptly rushed to his room.  _ Probably for some celebratory masturbation. Gross. _

Despite it, Natalie held her grin and continued reading.

_"…we strongly suggest_ _you and any parent/guardian responsible of finances arrive one day early. In the case of a withdrawal from our program…"_

* * *

Campus life was wildly different than what Natalie was used to by then. Being in the presence of passionate high school freshman immersed in the arts instead of the usual slackers, class clowns, and general idiots in her previous eighth grade class; it was almost overwhelming. Her dormitory roommate was named Ayla, a name that would later be completely wiped from Natalie's mind as she explored the rest of her new school. She caught a few people's stares as she made her way to the mess hall, but was able to dismiss them with relative ease.  _ This is the place where things might finally go my way. A couple paranoid 15-year-olds can't stop me if they wanted to. _

As she expected, for the first few weeks she sat alone. Whether in class, at lunch, at the library, tech lab, even during group projects sometimes. She didn't mind. The less interaction, the more mystery. The more mystery, the more rumors. And the more rumors, the less likely people would genuinely believe  _ anything _ about her, even if it was true.

Today was going a little different, however. Natalie was sitting on the edge of the sports field, sketching something she wasn't even sure what it was, when another student walked up to her with an unnaturally excited air. Natalie recognized the girl as someone in her Creative Writing class, that one girl who asked too many questions and got too many A's to be a functioning human being. Seems that she had plenty time to socialize, though. Natalie caught a small glimpse of you'll never guess what I heard in her eye, and raised an eyebrow.  _ What does this girl have to say. _

"Uh, hi. Natalie, right?"

She nodded, waiting for her to get past pleasantries and continue.

"Okay. I'm Grace. I know we've never talked, or hung out, or anything, but you seem nice. And since I can't stand keeping secrets about nice people,  _ from _ nice people…"

"Is this some sort of confession of emotional vulnerability?"

Grace seemed to be caught off guard, and Natalie had to try with all her might to hide a smirk. She nodded again, donning a sympathetic expression.  _ Go on. _

The girl cleared her throat. "Umm, not exactly. It's more of…well…" she trailed off, and then settled on pointing behind her at a crowd of juvenile boys behind them, laughing and cracking immature, bigoted jokes at each other. Natalie noticed that one of them kept glancing nervously at the two of them, eyeing the other girl with poorly masked nervousness.  _ Oh. It's about him, isn't it? _

"One of the boys over there, Chris, likes you. He told me to just give you hints about who he was, but…" Grace's cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and she winked at Natalie with an attempted air of  _ See, I know how to be cool, and "bad." _

"…I honestly think you two would look great together. He's real shy, and nice, and you're kind of mysterious and cool. I mean, it's like you're in a book or something!"

Natalie raised her eyebrows and looked over the girl's shoulder at who must've been Chris. The boy in question quickly ducked his head back into the crowd of teenagers, flushing a deep red at her intense gaze.

"…Chris, huh?" She looked up in mock thought, and rested her head in her hand. "He might be worth a spin. Get back to me on that, would you, sweetie?" Without a second glance she returned to her sketchbook and shooed Grace away.

She seemed a little taken aback at how dismissive Natalie was being, but left her alone nonetheless.


	6. Chapter 6

A long, slow-burning seven months passed after Natalie had taken the high-strung and doormat of a Christopher Haverford under her wing, that she finally started to feel something shift in the school's atmosphere when she entered junior year. Sure, things were always changing as far as she could tell but outside grounds seemed to be getting more oddly chipper by the minute for a reason she couldn't explain. Chris seemed worried too, but more so in a way that suggested he knew why. Anytime Natalie confronted him about what was happening, and why everybody was acting so weird, he became nervous to the point that he couldn't form a full sentence. So she let him be after it got too intense. She couldn't risk pushing it to the point where he wanted to break up with her; breaking hearts was Natalie's job, and she was planning for this to be a big one.  _ Almost a year in the making, I can't destroy this project now. Give it time. Act like everything's fine. He'll never see it coming. _

And that's exactly what Natalie did. Eventually, students' moods turned more sour and pessimistic as more months went on. Still, Chris acted like something was horribly wrong. Occasionally, somebody would point and whisper, or punch him in the shoulder scoldingly. Natalie once heard a full reprimanding go on from Grace behind her back, being only able to hear Chris' protests and final admittance of shame. Whatever kind of shit the guy was on, the symptoms only seemed to increase whenever Natalie was around.

Today she sat alone (as usual) in her illustration class. They were working with all new materials, fresh from the school's delivery line, and most kids were ecstatic. Natalie didn't care for it all that much. She still couldn't tell the difference between a professional-grade illustration pencil and a good old #2. But she could still appreciate all the new paints and high quality pens that'd been purchased.

While she was doodling something graphic and disturbing (as usual), the teacher cleared her throat from in front of her desk. Apparently, Natalie had spaced out and needed to get something done. She wasn't entire sure what that something was but the look on her teacher's face showed there was no time for questions. Natalie asked anyway.

"Uh, sorry. What's happening…?"

Mr. Adrien sighed and pinched his forehead. His hand had landed on Natalie's drawing, smudging the fresh pencil marks. She resisted the urge to strangle him as he looked down disappointedly at her desk.

"Miss  _ Oue-llette, _ " he started in his thick French accent that Natalie had always hated, "the assignment from yesterday. Where is it. Everybody else has turned it in but you."

Natalie paused, then racked her brain, genuinely confused. Assignment? Yesterday? She could barely remember what was happening an hour ago. She was too busy thinking about plans, and drawing. She finally gave a nervous, apologetic smile and attempted to slide her sketchbook back towards her, but Mr. Adrien had an iron grip. It seemed he wouldn't let anything go anywhere until she gave a straight answer.

"…I seem to have forgotten it at the dorm, sir. Sorry," she muttered, a little embarrassed. Mr. Adrien sighed again and stood up straight, fixing his collar and heading back to his desk.

"You know by now I don't accept late work. If you manage to get your still life piece to me by the end of the day, Natalia, I might give you full credit. After that, your time is up."

Natalie almost snickered to herself at that. "Your time is up" was such an ominous way of putting it, it was almost funny. But she shut her mouth and tried concentrating on the lesson for once. Adrien's attitude told her she was treading on thin ice at this point, and she'd rather not get kicked out of this haven in the middle of sophomore year.

After class, Natalie hauled her things back to her room to find her roommate absent. As usual. For some reason, she kind of wished they could talk a little more. Just once, maybe. But with her reputation that wasn't likely to happen with anyone. Well, other than Chris, but he hadn't been talking with her all that much either.

Natalie sighed and tied her hair back for dinner. Her practical mane had been getting in the way of eating lately and she found the need to do something about it, so she had been accumulating more and more hair ties over the past few days.

As she stepped out of the dormitory and into the cold, winter air, she found Chris waiting for her with his arms crossed and a displeased look on his face.  _ Either from the cold or he's mad at me. Here's hoping it's the first one. _

"…yeah?"

"Can we talk. Privately."

He phrased it more like a statement than a question, which made Natalie very nervous.  _ I'm the one who's supposed to do that. What's the guy trying to pull here? _

"Uh…okay. Sure," she responded, not exactly sure why.

"Good."

Chris suddenly grabbed Natalie's arm and pulled her around to the back of the dormitory building. He seemed almost angry, but mostly scared out of his wits. He was surprisingly strong for someone that emotionally frail, Natalie noticed. Once they were where he'd supposedly wanted them to be, he stopped, let go of Natalie, and rubbed his hands together anxiously.

"I-I'm sorry. I really am. But…I need to break up with you."

Natalie felt a pit in her stomach. "Sorry, you what?"

Chris looked infinitely more guilty at the remark, and twiddled his thumbs as if he was thinking of the best way to phrase this. "…you scare me. It's really easy to make me nervous, I know. But you  _ scare _ me, Natalie. I've seen your drawings. I've seen what you think of your family, and our teachers, and Grace, and…me."

"Oh, can't a girl draw gore without people flipping their shit? Are you saying I can't let off a bit of steam every once in a while?"

"You and I both know it's not a  _ bit _ . Definitely not once in a while, either. And that's not all," Chris shot back, sounding more confident and more annoyed than Natalie had ever heard him. "I know you're a psychopath, Natalie. You've done things, that…no. I'm not even going to say that. You ruin people's lives, you toy with them, you throw them away once you've had your fun. I can't help but think that maybe, I'm one of those people."

"…Chris…be smart here. I wouldn't—"

"I think you would. Y'know…I thought you were expecting this, honestly. All my friends, acquaintances, even some of the snooty assholes here have been trying to get me to break up with you since last year ended. Because they were worried about me. They were worried about  _ you _ . They said you were being a bad influence, and that they got a bad feeling from you."

"Why the hell did you listen to them, then?!"

"Because they were right. I found out soon enough. It took months to break me down, but I knew all along they were right. It's over, Natalie. I'm sorry."

"Just give me another chance."

The words flew out before Natalie could stop them.  _ Another chance?! Are you seriously begging now? _

_ This has been a huge effort! If I let him get the last word, all this would've been for nothing! Let me act weak for one second, at least! _

But Natalie had the strange feeling she wasn't acting anymore.

"Please," she nearly whispered. Chris looked at her coldly.

"…fine. Here's your  _ other chance, _ Natalie. Say something in ten seconds that'll change my mind. Convince me, since you're so good at that."

The plain bitterness in his voice was enough to silence her.  _ This is not ideal. Okay. Alright. Think. Think, think think… _

"Time's up."

Without another word, Chris turned and walked off, leaving Natalie shivering and unsure.


	7. Chapter 7

It didn't take long for things to go downhill after that.

For one, the shock of the breakup was enough to make Natalie forget about even looking around for Mr. Adrien's missing assignment. She couldn't even find it in her to start tonight's assignment, either, which resulted in heavy eyelids and a fresh  _ F _ the morning after.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Natalia," Adrien finally said when he reached her empty desk. But something about the look on his face made it seem like he could tell she was stressed, and wished with all his heart he could give her more time.

_ Guess he can't, though. _

Natalie's grades slowly started descending, even though she tried to genuinely pull through and payed all the attention she could. But staying up to 3:00 in the morning each night, snapping nearly every pencil she owned out of frustration, and realizing very quickly that she had lost the closest thing she had to a friend was not an ideal game plan for the second semester. In the end, the missing work, the half-assed exams, the late essays, everything started to pile up until suddenly she had an unimpressive  _ D _ next to her name on the report card sent home for summer break.

"Natalie, what's this?"

The voice of her mother drifted upstairs to where the 16-year-old was curled up as a hermit in her room, and a sense of dread started to creep into her stomach. She was too stressed and sorrowful to be angry at herself, or anyone. Her mother kept calling her down to the kitchen to talk, but Natalie refused to move. She eventually noticed it had been silent for a while, and then heard Mary muttering to somebody else.

"You. Go. Deal with this."

"What? Why  _ me?" _ Lucas whined as if he was still 12.

"You made it out of high school alive. Now you're helping her get back in. Go. Upstairs. Now."

Lucas groaned. There was the sound of a piece of paper being snatched and the front door shutting before he trudged upstairs and knocked loudly on Natalie's door.

"Hey. Open up. You can't hide in there forever."

"Watch me, fuckwad," Natalie fired back from underneath her covers.

"I'm coming in."

"No you're n—"

Before she could finish, Lucas nearly broke the door off its hinges bursting in and stalked over to her bed, folded report card in hand.

"I'm not even sure if I want to look at this now. But I know that something happened, at some point, and your grades are falling. And they are falling  _ hard _ , let me tell you."

"How do you know that, you haven't even opened the damn thing yet." Natalie ripped the covers off herself and stood up indignantly, attempting to snatch the card out of Lucas's hands. He held it high above her head and glared down at her.

"Oh, no, you don't. Not until you tell me what the  _ hell _ went on this year. We haven't seen you for another eight months, do you expect us to just let you sit around in your room and hide these things from us?"

"Really love how you're speaking for Mom and Dad, since they forced you to try and get something out of me. It's…not…happening… _ no! Don't you—" _

With a couple more desperate jumps to reach the report card, Lucas seemingly gave into temptation and opened it up. When he got a glimpse at the grades, ignoring Natalie's angry and embarrassed seething, his eyebrows shot through the roof.

"…oh. Wow. I mean…I remember this happening to me in middle school, but really only in the classes I hated. Is art school really this bad?" Lucas's eyes endlessly scanned the card, almost like he was double-checking that he hadn't read the horrendous grades wrong. He turned on his heels and went to a different corner of the room to examine the whole thing, from tardiness to sick days to teachers' comments.

"…you sure this is what you want to do for the rest of your life? I know you like drawing, but now I'm kind of starting to think that Dad was right. Maybe this isn't where you really belong." Natalie could swear he was almost smirking. He kept on talking about how she needed to mature, and give high school her all if she wanted to succeed. Natalie couldn't even hear anything past that. Something in her wanted to burst at that moment. She could feel her blood boiling, her heart pounding in her ears, her fingernails digging into her palms with rage. She hated her brother so much. She didn't know what to do about it. She couldn't even kill him. If she did, he wouldn't have to live with any suffering. If there was something,  _ anything _ , that would bring him unbearable pain so he would never bother her again…

She spotted an unused sewing kit by her night table, and felt a sense of clarity.

She didn't need him to die.

She just needed him to  _ shut up _ .

"…Lucas," she muttered, gripping a needle and some black thread tightly in her fist.

"What. What do you want."

"I want you to come over here, please, brother."

Lucas sighed and reluctantly walked over to where she was standing. "Look, I don't know what it is with you, but there's always some—"

"SHUT  _ UP!" _

Natalie whirled around and jabbed the needle hard into Lucas's bottom lip, cutting one of his gums in the process. He screamed with pain and fell backwards, allowing Natalie to pin him to the floor and finish the job.

" _ Do it! _ Shut—up—for—once—in…"

With each word, she held his head down with more force, and sealed the left corner of his mouth, moving gradually towards the center. The mixture of shock, horror, and indescribable pain in Lucas's eyes, the sight of blood dripping down his face, and the muffled screams barely making it past his teeth brought her great joy.

"…your  _ life!" _ She took three shaky breaths and gazed with wonder at her handiwork. About half of Lucas's mouth was completely sealed with thread. His entire body was trembling with pain and anger, and he finally managed to shove Natalie off and scramble away to a far corner of the room. He looked almost ready to murder.  _ Funny. So am I. _

_ "What the fuck are you?! What did you do to me?" _ He yelled, not able to open his mouth all the way. Every time he tried, a wave of pain shook him back to the ground and he clamped his hands over his mutilated lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, trying to make any noise possible as some sort of cry for help. Natalie scoffed at his pitiful state, lifting the bloodied needle and thread to examine.

"Even with your mouth shut, brother, you're still too fucking  _ loud _ . You're just being weak. Here, I'll give myself some…"

She gazed at the needle's tip and shakily held it to her own mouth.  _ No. I'm not gonna make myself stuck in silence, like him. _ As quietly and quickly as possible, she sewed up the corners of her mouth and around it, her eyes shut. The pain somehow felt cathartic, as if she'd been waiting to do this her whole life. She reopened her eyes to Lucas pointing a shaky finger accusingly at her. She noticed he'd managed to pull the stitches out and now had blood dribbling down his chin.

"You're fucking insane. You're not  _ human _ , you're not my sister." His face was pale and even his eyes were trembling. As much as she could, Natalie grinned wider than she ever had.

"You're right. I'm not y—"


	8. Chapter 8

_ "I fucking  _ knew _ something like this would happen. She's always hated me, there was nothing holding her back anymore—" _

_ "Please, sir, calm down. I'm not even sure you should be in here, it's too risky for both your mental health." _

_ "I need you to listen to me. She's not some fixer-upper that'll just pop in, and pop out of here in no time. She's a monster. You can't cure a monster." _

Natalie groaned and held her head. At least, she tried to hold her head. But no matter how much she lifted her arm, it just didn't seem to land anywhere.  _ What the fuck…just happened…to… _

"Oh, my god, she's waking up. That's all I needed to say, anyway. I'm getting out of here."

_ Lucas…? _

She seemed able to curl her hand into a fist. Good start. But where was she? She couldn't risk opening her eyes, the pure red behind her eyelids told her there was too much light in the room. She tried wiggling her shoulder, and felt something tighten on her arm.

_ Wait. Is it still just laying there? _

_ Oh god. I'm tied down. I can't do anything. _

Without thinking, Natalie screwed her eyes open and jumped up like she'd just awoken from a nightmare. She tried with all her remaining strength to sit up, lift her head, do something, but nothing was working. Everything from her neck to her ankles had been restrained and practically attached to the bed.

Natalie gasped and took several short, shallow breaths, searching her head for something to say, a name to call out. Someone that would help her up.

_ …Mom? No, she wouldn't do anything. She's got no backbone. _

_ Dad wouldn't even try and comfort me. _

_ Lucas… _

The events of the last five minutes she could remember came flying back, and she dug her fingernails into her mattress.

_ He's the reason I'm here, isn't he? _

"Ms. Natalie Ouellette, please calm yourself."

"Where's my brother. Where did he go, I want him to show his coward fucking face so I—"

"Please, miss, hold still, or I'll have to call in security!"

"Who the fuck are you, anyway? What are you trying to—"

Natalie's words were cut short when the strange figure above her who must've been a doctor of some kind secured a breathing mask over her face. She could now only yell muffled, empty threats at the person, trying hard not to fall back asleep.  _ I need answers, goddammit. _ A strong sense of drowsiness was beginning to wash over her, and her breaths became more deep and drawn-out as her eyes fluttered closed.

_ Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. _

* * *

Natalie, when she opened her eyes back up, couldn't remember for the life of her whether she'd actually dozed off. All she could tell was that she was suddenly in a large, bright, barren room.

There was no more bed.

She still couldn't move her arms.

And she had a strange feeling that she was being watched from behind.

The floors and walls were all white and padded, and she knew instantly where she was.

"Knock knock."

She whirled around, nearly tripping over herself while searching for the source of the voice. She looked down, and saw that she was in a straitjacket. When she looked back up in front of her, she saw a pair of eyes gazing at her from a small rectangular window in the far wall.

"Hi, Natalie. I'm sorry this had to happen."

Her mother gave a little attempted wave through the tiny sheet of glass. Natalie's eyes twitched with anger, and without a second thought she came barrelling towards her, crashing into the white padded wall that was preventing her from tearing Mary-Beth Ouellette to shreds. All she could think to do was thrash and scream. How could her own mother just stand and watch as she was bound and locked away, like an animal?

_ You were the only one who I had faith in in this horrible family! Now you just let them torture me, isolate me, and all you have to say is "sorry"?! _

"Please understand, Natalie. You've been here for days. This is the only safe place they could put you. I'd say everything's okay, but…" Mary faltered, looking disappointed. "You know I can't. Not after what's happened with you and Lucas. Not after you can't be put under anesthesia without three doctors entering the room to restrain you."

_ "I don't care! Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, I'm going to fucking KILL YOU!" _

"Natalia Angelique Ouellette! You know I can't do that, even if I wanted to. It's almost funny; I was always so afraid of this happening, ever since the psychiatrists and the therapists and the doctors told me about what you were. But now I don't know how I feel. I'm almost…relieved."

_ "Relieved that I'm finally in a fucking psych ward where they're going to leave me to die?! Is this what you wanted?!" _

"I'm relieved to know that this wasn't anybody's  _ fault _ , Natalie. Your father and I did everything we could to make sure you felt loved, and that you could solve your problems without destroying things or hurting people. Now we know that wasn't the case. These people know what they're doing, and that's all I need to know."

_ "I always thought you were on my side. You're just like all the rest. You think I'm broken, and wrong, and crazy, and that I belong here with all these fucking idiots and suicidals and delinquents!" _

Her mother's expression changed from stone to pity in a heartbeat. "Yes. I do."

She walked away to let Natalie stew in that. The girl sank to the floor in despair. For once in her life she had no control. There was nothing she could to to help herself, unless she could just kill everybody here…

Hours passed. Days, even. Natalie had no way of knowing. There were no clocks, no solid schedule she could see for when her meals suddenly appeared through a slot in the room. She decided to amuse herself by poking random squares of padding on the floor or the walls, and watching them slowly puff back up.  _ It's like one giant, shit-quality mattress. _

She was almost considering trying to stand up when something clicked and shifted on the other side of the room. She quickly turned her head to see a tall, lanky man entering through what must have been a masterfully concealed door, syringe in hand. Out of the corner of her eye, a security camera refocused and seemed to zoom in.

_ What are they trying to do now? _

"Ms. Ouellette, if you'd sit still, please."

Reluctantly, Natalie sat cross-legged, facing the doctor with pure hatred filling her chest and throat. She dug her nails into the floor to keep herself from charging at another human being for the second time.

"This is midazolam." He knelt down at her feet, tapping the syringe filled with a strange, brown liquid for clarity. "It's a sedative. Now, normally we don't use this within 2 days of you being here unless it's for an immediate surgery. But your parents have approved your staying under for another couple of days, just to understand where this new, violent nature is coming from.

"Lately you've been behaving very well on your own, with the exception of how you acted around your mother. And we can't exactly read your mind, but the chemical levels in your brain as of Monday have been almost perfectly balanced. So right now, I'm going to remove your straitjacket…" he looked her directly in the eye, fixing her with a stern look as he unbuckled the straitjacket and let it fall to the ground.

"…and I'm going to need you to stay  _ exactly _ where you are for the next 10 minutes. The midazolam will put you in a drowsy state, and from there we will begin to examine your resting mental state."

The doctor lifted the syringe slowly into the air, almost as if he was trying to make the injection as dramatic as possible.

_ He's almost at his most preoccupied. _

"Don't worry about it hurting. You've had a shot before, right?"

Without waiting for a response, he pressed the needle to her left arm.

"3, 2–"

_ "GET AWAY FROM ME!" _

Natalie used her free hand to claw him across the face, jumping up and attacking more furiously she had ever in her life. She backed him against the doorway, kicking, punching, scratching, hell, even  _ biting _ so that she wouldn't have to get knocked out again. Finally, the doctor tried holding her back with the syringe as defense, until she charged at him again.

"Wait, Natalie, it's going to hit your—"

_ "AAAAUUGHHH!" _


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm a bit surprised, Natalie. Most clients in your… _ situation _ don't have a solid grasp on action and consequence, cause and effect. They always try the same kind of thing over and over, you know?"

Natalie couldn't answer as the talkative nurse undid the straps on her wrists and stood up, eyeing her handiwork with borderline pride. Assuming she still wasn't allowed to move her head just yet, she gave out a small "Mhm," and blinked once. She still couldn't see out of her left "eye," but at least there was something there.

"…but you seemed to get it right away. One accident like that and  _ boom _ . Well, I mean, in the others' defense, you don't get an eye gouged out every day. You can stand up now."

_ Oh, thank god. It's over. _

Natalie slowly rose from what must've been a recycled dentist's chair and put a hand to her face.  _ Yeesh. There's a solid marble there now. I wonder what it looks like? _ She turned to the nurse, almost timidly. "Can I see it?" She asked with her hands folded to keep them from twitching.

"Sure." Natalie was handed a rubber-lined hand mirror with a plastic sheet over the glass.  _ Probably to keep anybody from breaking it. _

She stared at her own reflection with wonder.  _ When was the last time I actually saw myself? _ For a solid minute, she examined the color of her irises, her strandy hair, the red punctures left around her mouth from the stitches she gave herself. It almost made her sad; she'd never gotten the chance to look at them before they were taken out.

"I love it. Thank you," she finally muttered after a long silence, handing the mirror back to a now concerned-looking nurse. She smiled, and ignored how much her face hurt from having her eye socket stretched like that.  _ Maybe anesthesia wasn't necessary but they could've been nicer about it. _

"I like it, too. I don't know if you've picked up on this yet, but I'm  _ very _ impressed at your growth lately. It feels like just one event really changed your perspective, you know?" The nurse grinned at her and walked outside to confer with some other sickeningly fake lady. Natalie waited, not sure what else to do.

_ Guess it was probably the best I could do to never lash out like that. Just snide remarks and toying with people's minds. What kind of life is that, anyway? _

"Just wait, you idiot," she whispered to herself, poking at her new glass eye. "You need to wait for once in your life. Slow burns are supposed to be fun, remember?"

_ But this isn't some experiment, or a project, or whatever fuckery I used to pull. I can't play mind games here. I can't do anything. They'll catch on eventually. _

"Well, then, wait anyway. If that's what it'll take to get out of here."

_ Just wait. _

_ Wait. _

_ Wait. _

Natalie resumed her daily activity of picking at the floor of her padded room, waiting for meals to arrive so she could play with something else. It seemed to keep her from the brink of real insanity, almost. Though the brink can be even  _ more _ painful than what you're fearing.

And there she waited for what seemed like years. Outside interaction was a luxury she could only afford so much of, and even then it felt like she wasn't there. All that was real, was the white walls, and the soft floor, and her feasts of lukewarm oatmeal and half-burnt beef casserole. All she could do was sit and wait for the next thing. Sit and wait. Sit and wait.

She slowly began remembering everything she'd heard about time in her life, and calling bullshit on all the nice proverbs, inspiring quotes, uplifting sayings almost everyone seemed to know.

Time didn't heal wounds. It just stilled the bleeding.

Time didn't go faster with each passing day. Everything stayed the same.

Time was an enemy. Not a teacher. Not a friend. Not a mysterious force or a parent.

Time was working against everything Natalie had ever wanted. Scratch that, it was working against Natalie herself.

_ I'm not a child anymore. I've seen the world. I've seen its cruelty, and how if you want to survive, sometimes you need to step on someone else. _

_ But you're not letting up, like everyone said you would. _

_ Everything is the same. _

_ Everything is the same. _

Natalie would have this painful grudge against each ticking second, every passing minute until one year had come and gone, and a nervous-looking technician entered her room with a clipboard in his hand.

"Natalia—uh, is it okay if I call you that?"

Natalie hesitantly nodded. She couldn't have hated her full name more.

"Well, I suppose it won't really matter in a couple minutes. I was just sent to inform you of your future dischargement. Tomorrow, your family is taking you back home for the summer, where you'll adjust to regular life for your senior year in high school."

Though Natalie had known this for a solid week now, she put on her best "pleasantly surprised" face and nodded eagerly for the technician to go on.

"I know you haven't seen them in a while, so we've arranged a sort of family therapy session to catch up before you go. You'll be escorted there in an hour."


	10. Chapter 10

As she'd expected, Lucas wasn't there. There was a distinct silence in the room, and an empty chair that Natalie kept glancing at throughout the session. Her mother had obviously just gotten back from a long cry, and her father was stony and gruff. As usual.

"So…how's everything been, sweetie?"

"Fine," she responded immediately, earning a shocked look from her mother.

"Wait, really? You were so upset last year, what could've possibly happened to…?"

Natalie's good eye widened.  _ Did they not tell them? _

The technician, acting as a sort of mediator, held his hand up awkwardly. "Uh, there must have been a sort of mistake in scheduling. We were going to inform you of…an accident. That occurred roughly a week in to Natalie's stay—"

"Excuse me? There was an  _ accident _ and you didn't tell us?" David asked, his voice getting progressively louder. Natalie worried one of the paintings in the room would come unhinged and fall. The technician looked wired, jumping at the interjection. "Sir, I'm sorry. I'm not in charge of communications, I'm only in a lower level of tech. Natalie lost an eye."

_ "What?!" _ Both Natalie's parents yelled at the same time. Mary's yell was in shock and heartbreak, while David's was in outrage and fury.

"She lost an  _ eye?! _ What did you  _ do _ , how-how is she so calm now?!"

"What kind of hospital  _ are _ you? You're seriously telling me that you let her just  _ poke _ her eye out during her stay?!"

"Please, calm down! We had no intention to harm her, there was simply an accident with her midazolam injection. She's in a perfectly healthy state now, it happened almost a year ago." The poor young man looked terrified of the current conflict, and Natalie felt the need to step in.

"He's right. I'm fine now."

"Natalie, let the adults talk this out, please," her mother replied, her voice almost shaking. She was clearly more concerned with how angry David was right now. The technician gulped and held his hands out as if to explain, but Natalie's father shot him a look of utter bitterness that shut him up. "How did this happen?"

"W—o-oh. Well, when Dr. Stevenson came in to give your daughter her dose of midazolam…it was a-almost a success, but then at the last second Natalie attacked him. The injection needle got, er, stuck. In her eye."

Mary put a hand to her mouth, glancing sideways at Natalie. She seemed to understand immediately why she still looked like she had both eyes.

"Oh…I…what went  _ wrong _ , though? Why weren't we informed?" She rested a hand on Dave's shoulder in a weak attempt to calm him. He still looked ready to murder as the technician reluctantly responded, "I-It's unclear. Something should've been sent out asking you two to visit as soon as possible. An email, letter,  _ something _ . But I told you, I'm not in charge of that. If you'd like to bring this up to administration, you can ask to book an appointment. But I'm afraid I can't help you here." He meekly ripped a sheet from his clipboard and handed it to Mary with an apologetic look on his face. "I'll need you to sign here, and then Natalie will be discharged. The doctor heavily recommended professional therapy and psychiatric sessions until she's adjusted, and her mental state is completely at rest."

"…thank you. I'm sure you've done everything you can," Natalie's mother reassured with a kind, but mournful smile. She turned to David and asked quietly before signing, "Honey…do you want to file a complaint, or…?"

"No." Dad's face was stony and indecipherable, other than the fact that his eyes read sorrow. "Let's just go. The sooner, the better. She needs to rest in a real bed for once." He glanced at Natalie, almost looking sympathetic.

"You're going home."

* * *

To her dismay, sessions with Deborah became a weekly occurrence and the woman's words soon were almost ingrained into her brain. Unsurprisingly, she was a lot more concerned for Natalie's health than before the incident, despite her seeming more normal than usual. Something about that must've felt off, though. Natalie attempted to act as reassuring as possible but apparently that wouldn't be enough.  _ She's developed a sharp eye from me, I guess. _

"So let's try that again, Nats. 'You matter to me.'"

"You matter to me."

"'I don't want you out of my life.'"

"…I don't want you out of my life."

"'You can trust me.'"

Again, like many attempts before, Natalie couldn't help but snicker the tiniest bit that that one. It always seemed to get her. Deborah fixed her with a stern look, something that was rare for a person like her to do. Natalie cleared her throat and put on a straight face.

"You can trust me."

"Always seem to have trouble on that one, don't you? Does it have anything to do with what happened last year?"

_ No _ .

"Yes."

Deborah sighed and flicked a finger in the air matter-of-factly. "I'd like to think I know you by now, Natalie. I really do. Which is why I keep telling you that you shouldn't pretend like this. I know the hospital didn't fix everything. It doesn't work that way." She seemed to think for a moment. "…is it possible, you think, that you're acting like this as a defense mechanism? Because I've seen your conniving face. I've heard about your plots in action. And I don't think this is really one of them."

Natalie raised an eyebrow. She would often go on tangents like this about how everybody has a heart, but this felt new. This felt like a sudden change of direction. "Well, what do you  _ think _ this is? What am I really doing?"

"I think you're protecting yourself now. I think you're scared, Natalie."

_ I think you're scared, Natalie. _

It felt like something melted through her at that moment. Like a wave of confusion washed over her, and instead of drawing a blank, she was simply shocked.

_ Who does this woman think she is? Some professional? _

Well, technically she is.

_ But she thinks she knows me! She thinks I'm acting normal because I'm _

"Scared!"

Natalie scoffed the word, and all of a sudden her old self came rushing back to her. She couldn't bear pretending to take this anymore. She needed to let off some steam.

"You seriously think I'm fucking  _ scared _ of you? You think you know what I'm like, why I do the things I do? I'm bored. There's the truth,  _ blondie _ . I'm fucking  _ bored _ all the time, and I'm sick of people like you telling me how I feel, and what I should do, and how I should think!" She started tugging at her hair until a few strands had been torn out. "I don't know how you got a  _ degree _ in this shit, but you have no idea what's just happened. You have no idea what I just went through, what I had to do for a  _ year _ to get out of this fucking hellhole!"

To her surprise, Deborah didn't flinch. Her hands were folded in her lap. She held Natalie with a steady, calculating gaze. It seemed like she was almost telling her to do something.

_ Did I only toughen her up?! _

Without a second thought Natalie plopped down onto the leather couch in defeat. She hung her head and stared at the floor, at a loss for what to do next.

"May I continue?" Deborah asked coolly, and Natalie could feel her eyes narrowing in disappointment. She slowly nodded.

"I usually don't try to criticize my patients about an outburst like that. But I honestly don't think you're listening to my advice enough. It seems that you try your hardest to never let anybody get to you, even outside your regular psychopathy. I've suggested healthy ways to deal with your problems for three years now and there doesn't seem to be any considerable roadblocks in trying them out." She raised her eyebrows as if her main point was coming up. "But you did this to yourself, Natalie. Believe it or not, you family isn't to blame for the asylum. You're the one who attacked your brother. You're the one who got a needle stuck in your eye. You're the one who made it so you had to wait a whole year to come back home. As much as you might try to deny it, it's the truth."

Natalie paused, not able to take all of this in. All she could think was,  _ I bothered her this much? Now she's just plain cold. _

Deborah must've read the expression on Natalie's face, because she responded as if she were a mind-reader. "And no. You didn't  _ make _ me turn mean. I've been dealing with people with your same issues for almost a decade. I'm very quick to turn cold."

"I can't decide if I like new Deborah or not," Natalie replied honestly. The blonde flashed a smile at the remark and clicked her pen a couple times expectantly.

"Like I said. Not really  _ new _ . Now, how about you rethink some of the things I've told you before. Let's start with the simplest: actions have consequences."

"And let's also start with what I say every time:  _ I don't care how other people feel _ ."

Deborah sighed and shook her head. "See, that's not what I'm talking about. How about we look at this from a different angle." She pointed her pen sternly at Natalie, hunching over like she was solving a crossword puzzle. "Don't think about it as hurting others; think of it as hurting yourself."

"How."

"Damaging others damages their opinion of you. If enough people end up disliking you, you'll get denied more and more things." She started ticking off on her fingers. "Resources, support, opportunities…all because you decided somebody should have a bad day by your hand. I have more examples, if you want to dive into those. But I think you get the point."

"…what if you don't get caught?" Natalie asked, this time genuinely curious as to how Deborah would respond to that. She simply received a blank, disappointed stare.

"I suppose there's always the chance you could get away with something. But there's also the chance that somebody notices. Think about that, next time you get your hands on a needle."

But Natalie  _ didn't _ think about it. Especially the next time she got her hands on a needle.


	11. Chapter 11

Midnight, two weeks later. School would start in just a few days. Just like all the nights before, Natalie was wide awake and laying on the floor. Her face was twitching and her fingers fidgeted, looking for something to do.  _ What's the use in keeping my family around, anyway. I can do things on my own. I can survive. I can… _

She groaned and sat up, holding her head. There seemed to be no laughter, or tears, or anything left inside of her. She couldn't help but feel like something was wrong, though. She felt hungry, but not for food. She yearned for something she couldn't reach just yet.

Her thoughts were suddenly calmed when she heard a faint sound from outside her bedroom door. It sounded like an alarm clock ringing. But that didn't make sense; her family didn't own any analog clocks. Just some digital alarms and Dad's old, antique pocket watch…

She decided to get out of her room for once and investigate the sound. It seemed to be coming from downstairs, in the living room. Natalie turned the corner and looked around; everything was dark and still. It looked like the life had been sucked out of the house, almost. She didn't need to worry about getting interrogated by Lucas, as he was off at some random summer camp interning.

_ Where are you, where are— _

"Ow!"

She stubbed her toe on a small object on the floor, and nearly tripped over herself. The ringing noise stopped abruptly, and then after a moment it continued.

_ So it  _ was _ his pocket watch. _

After a moment's hesitation Natalie bent down to pick it up, and located the small button on top to shut the ringing off. She gazed at it for a minute, her eye slowly adjusting to the dark. "Huh."

She found herself somehow unable to look away from the watch's moving hands, the numbers lining the sides. It felt like it was watching her, almost. Like it had locked her in its gaze. Like it was telling her to do something.

_ No. It's a watch, you idiot. It can't tell you to do shit. _

"But what if it could?"

…

Natalie marched to the 1st-floor bathroom and gripped the sink tightly, staring at her own reflection. Her glass eye was starting to feel less like a part of her face and more like to trivial piece of decoration.  _ What was I thinking keeping this in. I'm not trapped in an asylum anymore. I don't need this. _

She glanced at the small clock in her hand, and without another thought grabbed the flat of a toothbrush and started prying out the marble in her eye socket.  _ Why…won't…it…come…out! _

The toothbrush snapped in half.

Natalie cursed and stalked over to the kitchen, snatching a knife out of the nearest drawer and not even bothering to return to the mirror before trying again. Almost five minutes passed before she heard a tiny clack, and the glass eye popped out.

_ Finally _ .

She looked at the watch again and began disassembling it until only the small clock was left. It wouldn't fit perfectly, of course; it wasn't even close to spherical. But it was small enough to pop into her eye socket, and that was good enough for her.

Natalie decided to take another look at her reflection, and noticed something else missing.

* * *

"Knock knock."

Mary-Beth jumped at the quiet, scathing voice behind her and dropped her water glass on the kitchen floor, shattering it to pieces. She turned around to see her daughter with blood dripping down her face, stitches resewn into the sides of her mouth, a small clock replacing her glass eye, and wearing her old fur-lined coat. Natalie was wielding a knife, with a chilling smile on her face. Her one eye seemed to glow in the dark—or at least, everything else seemed to be shrouded in shadow. Mary was at a loss for words; her daughter's face was almost mutilated, but she looked calmer than she had been in years.

"…o-oh. Natalie…what did…why are—"

"It looks nice, doesn't it? I always thought it fit me more than you." Natalie feigned a girlish giggle and twirled around in her mother's coat, smitten as a psychopath could be.

"Of course…you never let me wear it, anyway, now did you."

"Natalie, what is this? Why are you bleeding, w-what's in your  _ eye _ , why do you have stitches in your face?"

"Ha. Uh, you got me there. Funny story, actually. You see…" she stepped closer to her mother, who was frozen like a deer in headlights. Natalie reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of cloth that had been ripped into a makeshift gag, wrapping the ends around her hands in preparation.

"…I've been thinking a lot lately. About what I really wanted out of life. And the weird part is, all of my problems always seem to boil down to you," she nodded in Mary's direction like they were chatting over coffee, "and the rest of this family.  _ Then _ I started to notice that for most of my life, I've held myself back. You might think that I was being all the me I could be, but mother… _ mother _ ."

With almost inhuman speed, she grabbed Mary's shoulders, securing her arms behind her back, and pulled the gag across her mouth. She heard several attempted screams and muffled cries for help, all which went to waste.

"You couldn't be more wrong."

Natalie gently prodded her mother's back with a large shard of glass from the floor, causing her to yelp and start crying into the cloth. Natalie tried her hardest to suppress a noise of disgust.

"Now. As much as I would love to, I just can't bring myself to be  _ completely _ heartless. So I'm going to give you one last chance to prove you're worthy of staying alive. I want to you do something within the next ten seconds, that would save your life. Right.  _ Now _ ."

Her mother choked out something as the gag got tighter, that resembled something like, "Natalie, please," and Natalie scoffed.

"Please. For once in your life,  _ try _ , at least. You have five more seconds."

At those words, Mary seemed to think, panicked, and finally gave one weak kick before going limp in defeat. Natalie sighed, disappointed.

"Sorry, Mommy. Your time is up."

She raised the shard of glass to Mary-Beth's heart and stabbed five times before dropping her body to the ground and examining her new, finished project.

"That doesn't leave a good taste in my mouth, Mary. Gotta be honest with you." Natalie narrowed her eyes in thought, then bent over and chopped her mother's left hand off as a token.

"Oh, that's much better." She glanced up at the staircase, feeling optimistic.

"Maybe Dad'll be a little more fun."

Natalie Ouellette creeped up the stairs to her parent's bedroom—soon belonging to no one. The adrenaline rush of her first kill was still coursing through her veins as she leaned over her father's resting figure and raised her knife, aiming to plunge it in his throat.

"Wake up, Daddy," she muttered sweetly, a wide grin spreading over her face. David's eyes flickered open, and his face read grogginess until he spied Natalie's face and a kitchen knife aimed over his chest. She could almost hear his heart pounding as he tried instinctively to punch her in the face. But too late, as she quickly grabbed his incoming fist, climbed on top of him, and shoved a hand over his mouth, nearly choking him.

"Now, I wonder, Dave…" she stroked her father's face with her knife, watching his eyes widen in horror as she held up her mother's disembodied hand.

"What could you do in the next ten seconds, that'll save your life?"

Without a word, David headbutted Natalie so dead-centered that she was knocked to the floor and dropped her knife, holding her head and grimacing. He quickly grabbed the knife off the ground and pointed it at her defensively, shaking and gritting his teeth.

"…interesting," Natalie finally muttered, a grin spreading across her face. She sighed, like she'd just lost an argument. "I suppose you're right. But I think you shouldn't have underestimated me."

She pulled out a second knife from underneath her coat and held its tip to the moonlight, enjoying the look of fear crawling into her father's features.

"After all… _ you _ , of all people, should know how much I'm able to get done."

She quickly kicked the knife out of his hand and slit his throat, watching him choke on his own blood with satisfaction until he finally died.

"Time's up, David."

When he didn't respond, she looked around the room for something to do. "Do I just…run away now?"

A flash of blue light in her peripheral vision caught her attention.

Her father's nightstand alarm clock read 12:47. For some reason, Natalie couldn't help but stare at the blinking numbers as the seconds went by.  _ Time used to be my friend. Then it became my enemy. What is it now? _

She glanced back at her dad, blood leaking down his neck and onto the bed sheets. Then she looked over to the blank, undecorated wall.

_ Time helped me tonight. And this wall looks too plain. _

Natalie Ouellette dipped two fingers in her father's blood, and slowly started to write.

**12:47**

**THEIR TIME WAS UP**

After that, she rummaged through the kitchen drawers for matches. She always did love the way fire looked.


End file.
